


Descent

by cher



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games)
Genre: Clone Sex, M/M, Post DXMD, clone theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 04:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15453672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cher/pseuds/cher
Summary: There's more than one Adam Jensen. Maybe that's not so bad.





	Descent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacehopper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/gifts).



Adam sometimes—fine, most of the time—wished that David Sarif was less capable with comms tech than he was. Wishing he had less of a god complex and some understanding of boundaries seemed futile, so Adam would settle for just a little less skill. Perhaps that way Sarif wouldn't keep _finding him_ like this, and worse, trying to 'help him, for his own good'. 

Adam owed the man a lot, sure, but he considered the scales well and truly balanced by now. He'd done enough, and he wanted to be finished with Sarif's professed good intentions. After this he'd track down Pritchard and get him to finesse his Infolink until it was Sarif-proof, if such a thing was even possible. 

One more time for the road, then. Maybe Sarif's carrot had some truth to it and he did know something of Janus' origin. 

*

The plush Prague hotel room was—of course—done in gold and black. Apparently, you could take luxury away from the man, but you couldn't take the man away from luxury. Figured. 

Adam paused just inside the door, scanning the room for threats and assessing the entry and exit points. Maybe he'd get to walk out the same door he came in and no one would be shooting at him, but if so it would be the first time this week. It had been a _long_ week. 

"Sarif!" he called. Where was the smooth bastard? Adam walked further into the suite, the carpet so thick under his booted feet that Run Silent would have been redundant. It was a nice place, if a little more understated than his old boss usually preferred. 

Apart from the master suite, there were several adjoining rooms with their doors closed, and he took advantage of Sarif's predilection for making his 'subordinates' wait to do some recon. It worried him that he'd walked into the suite unchallenged. It was a hotel room, a meeting place, and Sarif couldn't have much in the way of passive defenses installed in the suite. Something about that arrangement didn't sit right with Adam; Sarif was still a target for aug sympathizers and Human First extremists alike. So where was the muscle? 

Two of the rooms seemed to be empty. He was about to open the third—he couldn't hear anyone moving around in there—when Sarif finally made his appearance. Lurking in the master suite, then, waiting for his dramatic moment. 

"Adam! Good to see you, son. It's been too long!" The expansive tone was the same, the blinding gold of his shirt as expected, but Sarif had aged. Losing your life's work and most of your fortune overnight would do that for you, Adam supposed. 

"Sarif. Nice place. Where's your security?"

"Same old Adam! Work, work, work. Don't you have time for a greeting for an old friend?" Sarif approached him, and Adam stepped out of range before the man could try to embrace him. It was an old dance, almost muscle memory. His ex-boss clasped his arm instead, augmented limbs meeting with a faint knock of sound. "You're looking well. Maintenance looks good; I'm surprised. Who have you found to work on you?"

That was David Sarif all over. Still thought he owned Adam body and soul. Mostly body. "You know me. I make friends wherever I go. We're not here to talk about me, though. You said you had information on Janus."

Sarif laughed. "Oh, we certainly are here to talk about you, Adam. Sarif Industries did some of its best work on you, and I'm delighted to see how well it's held up. I know you've had some rough times. You must have been glad of it in the field. I only wish I could offer you an upgrade, but ... well, you know the situation."

"The situation where you went off the grid and lost control of the SI mil-spec augs? Yeah. The Interpol team who died fixing that clusterfuck would be glad to hear you say that."

The man barely blinked. "Oh, come on Adam. Panchaea threw everyone for a loop. I couldn't be everywhere. Anyway, I have something I want to show you. I've been working on a project I think you'll be interested in." Sarif gestured toward the room Adam hadn't checked yet.

"Do you know anything about Janus at all, or is that just what you thought you had to say to get me here?" 

"I think you'll find my project very interesting, Adam, if you'll just take a look," he paused, and looked as close to concerned as the man ever got. "It might be a shock."

Adam opened the door, to see ... himself, sitting on a bed. The dissonance made him take a step back, and Sarif's hands on his back were more a comfort than an affront for once. "What..."

*

They'd agreed to go by Adam and Jensen for now. They'd agreed to get the hell away from David Sarif as well, and to find Pritchard as soon as they could. They needed to be off the Sarif radar for good. 

Were there more of them? There had to be. Maybe Frank would help find them. 

'Janus', the god of many faces. The god with the same face, many times over. It was ingenious and foolproof, in that 'Janus' didn't know who he was from one moment to the next. 

Eliza knew. Of course. She helped them share memories with one another, let them walk in and out of missions and strike teams with no one the wiser that they'd never met Jensen, never met Adam before. 

*

The first time they touched, they were drunk on adrenaline, bad bourbon and sheer morbid curiosity. How alike were they? Did they respond the same way? Did he really look like that when someone touched him just right?

They came with their black, polycarbonate hands on each other's dicks. It was a revelation. It wasn't like touching himself at all, but Jensen knew just how he wanted it. 

It was weird, but who was going to tell? Adam sure wouldn't, so neither would Jensen. They kept it up, something to make life a bit less of a grind. A way to experiment, get more comfortable in their own ... well, skin wasn't really the word, was it. But close. 

If they came hard enough, their eyeshields slid back involuntarily. It was surreal, and some of the first real fun Adam could say he'd had this side of Megan Reed. 

They could use the CASIE to drive each other higher and higher, setting up a feedback loop of desire and raw lust. And they were _strong_ , strong enough for some extremely baroque positions, if one of them was in the mood for it. 

Pritchard had called him a narcissist, sarcastically and only half serious, when he'd first brought Jensen to him. Maybe he wasn't wrong. 

And maybe it was strange, but watching the way Jensen's gold eyes blew wide when Adam licked his dick, the way his arms looked, shining against white bedsheets, how sensitive the skin around his chest and throat ports was—well, Adam hadn't really thought of his body as worth looking at for quite awhile, but Jensen was arrestingly beautiful. 

It was good to feel okay about himself again, even if it was another himself.


End file.
